


Rivers in the Sand

by electricshoebox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cave-In, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Hissing Wastes bring up bad memories, the Iron Bull desperately needs something to keep him grounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivers in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This fic gave me a lot of trouble, but I think I finally got it where I wanted it. It's strayed so far from my original intentions for it, but I think it ended up somewhere interesting anyway. A huge, huge thank you to [AislinCade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AislinCade/pseuds/AislinCade) and [serenity-fails](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com) for beta reading and helping me sort out all the snags. And another thank you to the Thirst Squad, just for being awesome. Hope you enjoy it!

The Hissing Wastes were a problem.

Bull was on edge the moment they stepped beyond the circle of Inquisition tents. The scouts had given them reports on Venatori numbers, which left Bull counting the hidden pockets in the dips of every sand dune and in the wind-battered arches of the rocks. Moving by night, as Adaar insisted, gave them the advantage of campfires dotting the dunes, and they skirted them easily through the shadows, footprints buried by the wind. No reason to engage until they knew whether the Venatori already had their prize, whatever it was. Yet if _they_ could melt into the night, so could the enemy, using the campfires like bait to draw their attention while ‘Vints sprang on them from the darkness. And all of that wasn’t even including the lurkers and wyverns slinking over the dunes after the rams that trotted by now and again.

Still, _those_ were problems like puzzles, equations, scattered pieces to put together in the right order for the right outcome -- complex, but formulaic for a Ben-Hassrath. An ex-Ben-Hassrath.

He had no formula for the problems that made his fingers twitch around his greataxe every time a breeze sent sand whipping around his legs. He caught himself expecting the heavy scent of spice to follow it, every time. When they crossed the Shallow Basin, Bull saw a dust storm rolling over the rocks in the distance the way fog used to roll in between the buildings in the Alam marketplace. The wind carried whispers, fragments of chants drifting up from the Venatori camps, words without meaning or shape, gone again before he could pin them down. Bull knew the old streets of Seheron lay far from the Orlesian desert, but looking out over the campfires winking across the dunes made him think of Gatt, all sharp elbows and knees stuffed into a crevice in a cliff with Bull, waiting to strike a ‘Vint drop-off on the beach. “It’ll be like kicking an anthill!” he’d whispered, and Bull had smothered the boy’s laughter with one big hand while stifling a smile of his own.

 _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun._ Reciting the words gave him comfort, once. When memories bit at the edge of his mind, keeping him tense, keeping him one hand twitch away from cleaving something in half, he let the rhythm of it carry him. _Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun._ It washed his mind clean, like the tide it described; it carried everything else out of focus, until he could breathe again. Now the words burned in the back of his throat, no longer his to take comfort in. The tide rises, the tide falls, and Bull felt adrift in the waves. There was no anchor to hold him down, to keep his mind still.

He schooled his face blank while he trudged behind the others, keeping well back from Cole so the kid wouldn’t start reaching into Bull’s head. He focused on running through tactics for hitting the campfires from the shadows as Adaar led them across the dunes. Then he focused on listening for changes in the sounds of their footsteps in the sand as they descended into a canyon, making sure they weren’t followed. Then he focused on the spiders that scuttled out of the cave they found, swinging his axe to sweep them from the floor and smash them on the rocks. Battle was easy, and keeping his focus there kept things clear. Or at least, clear enough.

“You know, I’d wager five crowns this desert was named by a Fereldan.”

Dorian’s voice abruptly jarred Bull from his thoughts. Bull raised his eye from the tomb floor to where the mage stood at a ramshackle table. Dorian darted a glance up at him, then returned to brushing the dust from a few books that lay on top. They stood in the old cave they’d found now, spiders dead on the floor in the antechamber. The only light came from the creepy green torches on the wall, their only virtue how soft they made Dorian’s skin look. Bull let his thoughts linger there for a moment instead. Adaar was leaning near one of four columns in the center of the room, his lips moving as he squinted at an inscription carved into the stone. He stopped as Dorian spoke, flashing a grin at the mage over his shoulder.

“The fact that it’s in Orlais doesn’t factor into this bet?” he said.

“Fereldans are positively devoted to drab, obvious names,” Dorian said, flipping the cover of the largest book open. “‘Storm Coast.’ ‘Redcliffe.’ ‘Blackmarsh.’ And my personal favorite, the cozy and inviting ‘Fallow Mire.’”

“Well, lets you know what you’re in for. It’s very Qunari of them,” Bull said. Three pacing circles of the room when they first entered showed him no sign of tripwires or loose panels, no obvious traps. So now he took to scanning the columns, tapping at the stone to listen for hollow spaces.

“You _would_ appreciate it,” Dorian grumbled, and Bull could almost hear his eyes rolling.

“The warning, yeah. The landscape, not so much,” said Bull, shrugging. He looked up from the column. “Thought _you’d_ appreciate the lack of snow.”

“There is that, I suppose,” Dorian said. He quirked his lips at Bull as he said it, looking at him a moment longer this time, and something in Bull eased just a little as he grinned back.

“‘...returned to the Stone.’ Hey Bull, there an inscription on that column?” Adaar stepped back.

Bull looked away from Dorian and craned his neck around the side of the pillar. “Yeah, Boss. ‘He bade each son swear he would take care of his brother.’”

“It’s a poem,” said Cole, appearing suddenly at the other side of Bull’s column. Bull tripped backward.

“Kid, we _talked_ about you doing that crap,” Bull grumbled, grateful his grip on his axe had been too loose to heft up and swing on instinct.

Cole hunched. “I was here the whole time, the Iron Bull. You didn’t see me.”

“A poem or a riddle, maybe,” Adaar continued loudly, and Bull sighed, frowning even as he ruffled Cole’s hat. “I’m wagering if we light these in the right order…”

“The door will open? Clever,” Dorian abandoned the books, moving to inspect the column across from Adaar.

Bull frowned. “Careful, Boss. There’s something… off about this. This stonework is old. And I don’t just mean a couple ages old. We’re talking _old._ ”

Adaar raised an eyebrow. “How can you tell?”

“You think we don’t have dwarven ruins up in Par Vollen? My old tamassran saw this place, she’d rope it off until the scholars counted the grains in every block,” said Bull, eyeing the column in front of him again. “But if they had something they wanted to keep hidden down here, lighting a few torches seems… too easy.”

Adaar looked back at the columns for a moment, then sighed. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

Bull felt all the tension snap back into his muscles like a rope pulled taut. He pursed his lips to smother the protest on his tongue. The boss was right. If claiming whatever it was the Venatori were prowling the desert to find dealt them a solid blow, it was worth whatever trap might spring around them. That didn’t mean he liked the idea, though. When Adaar started to turn toward the veilfire torch on the wall, Bull made sure he was there first. Their shadows stretched and twisted at odd angles and the gold casings on Adaar’s horns flashed green as Bull snatched the torch off the wall.

“Bull…” Adaar started, and Bull fixed his eye on him, raising his chin. Adaar held his gaze for a moment, opening his mouth. Then he slowly closed it again, stepping back. Bull caught a glimpse of Dorian looking at him over Adaar’s shoulder, but the Inquisitor’s shadow fell heavily over his face. Bull turned away.

“Which one first?” he said evenly.

The Inquisitor pointed. Bull angled the torch down, ghostly fire bursting to life in the sconce. As it did, Bull felt a slight warmth along his skin, and saw a dim glimmer from the corner of his eye that had nothing to do with the torch. He looked down at his arms. A barrier spell. He turned his head, his eye snapping to Dorian’s, and he saw the mage exhale heavily. Bull quirked his lips, and Dorian looked quickly away.

They waited. When no click or snap or crash followed, no shift in the air or the wall or the floor, no poisonous cloud or blade snapped through his neck, Bull asked for the next sconce. Only once all four burned bright did a sound echo through the chamber: the scrape of the old stone door at the head of the room sliding open. Cole flitted to the doorway before Bull could even take a step. Adaar was fast on his heels, but Cole peered calmly up from beneath the flap of his hat.

“There’s no one,” he said.

Adaar moved past him, and Dorian followed, passing through the light of the veilfire in Bull’s hand. Dorian’s jaw was tight, and he spared no glance for Bull. Bull slung his axe into place on his back and then caught Dorian’s arm.

“You okay?” he said, voice low, studying Dorian’s face as he whirled back to look at Bull.

Dorian glanced at the door Cole and Adaar had already slipped through, then looked back at Bull with a deep frown.

“Are _you_?” he whispered.

Bull held his gaze for a moment, feeling the ache in the back of his head clawing to the forefront of his mind again. Then Adaar stepped through the doorway again, pack a little heavier, so Bull gave Dorian a small smile.

“I’m good,” he said. Dorian’s eyes narrowed, but Bull nodded to where Cole was darting out of the room behind Adaar, and the Inquisitor caught his eye and shrugged.

“A few valuables,” he said. “Couple weapons. Nothing that looked significant.” He sighed, adjusting the straps of his pack on his shoulders. “Looks like we’ll have to go back to following their trail and hope they haven’t found what they’re looking for.”

“Lead the way, boss,” said Bull. He squeezed Dorian’s arm before turning away to hang the torch back on the wall. Then he followed Adaar through the antechamber, picking his way around a few smashed spider carcasses oozing out on the floor and stepping back out into the canyon.

He felt his body begin to tighten again as the wind hit him. The moonlight fell sparsely in the canyon, lost to the rock jutting out above them. Bull was struck as they walked the canyon floor by the memory of tracking footsteps through a back alley behind one of Alam’s bakeries, the one near the edge of the city with the sweet cakes he liked. It had been a Tal-Vashoth that time, and Bull had stood beside the body as the blood ran black in the dark, his only thought that he was lucky he didn’t have to pick his way through fog in the night this time. Now, the back of Bull’s neck began to itch. He took a deep breath and began scanning the canyon, back and forth, back and forth, as he marched after Adaar, who was scouting ahead.

“Dorian,” Cole’s voice broke the silence behind him, “what does ‘ _amatus_ ’ mean?”

Bull heard a sharp intake of breath. The word sounded vaguely familiar, but then again, it wasn’t a good night until Bull drove Dorian so far to the edge that he forgot Common altogether. Bull smiled faintly, pushing thoughts of Seheron aside to remember a rambling, needy string of Tevinter words breathed against his shoulder. Bull only understood one in ten, but the _sound_ was all that mattered.

“You think it every time you look at the Iron Bull,” Cole said when Dorian gave no other answer but a sharp curse.

Well, _that_ got Bull’s attention. He kept his pace even, unchanged, and his face forward, even as he heard them fall behind a little. Dorian still gave no answer, and that seemed…significant.

“It used to feel like fire,” Cole continued, his voice lilting now, echoing a little off the canyon wall, “but now it feels like water: rushing, racing, running through dry, cracked places and filling, full to bursting, with life..”

“Cole, please,” Dorian finally said, his voice strained. “This is not the time.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Cole.

But Bull’s heart had quickened a little at the words, and when the wind sent another spray of sand at his knees, he played them over in his mind before he could think of the marketplace again. _Running through dry, cracked places…_

“He has the same feeling, Dorian,” Cole said suddenly, tentative, quieter. and Bull heard the scrape of sand as Dorian stopped short. Bull’s own steps slowed.

“Does he now?” Dorian sounded breathy.

Bull closed his eye for a moment, bracing. To stop Cole now would give away his eavesdropping, but… maybe it didn’t matter anyway, if all of that was running through Dorian’s head…

“It has a different shape and a different sound,” said Cole, a little louder, a little more eager now that Dorian was asking, “But it feels the same, holding, hard but whole, healing, helping, hands smooth over scarred skin…”

Bull stopped walking. As much as he’d grown used to Cole filing through everyone’s thoughts, the accuracy still stunned him to halt.

“There’s pain here,” Cole said. “An old pain, memories melding over sand and silt, building on the breeze, but you make it easier.”

Bull blew out a breath through his nostrils. When he turned, Dorian’s eyes were already on him. He was too far to see clearly in the dark, but Bull didn’t need to meet his gaze to feel it.

Bull saw Cole’s hat move, and remembered the kid was there. He swallowed down against the sudden knot in his throat. “Uh, listen, Cole--”

He heard footsteps behind him then, running, and turned to see the Inquisitor. Cole and Dorian jogged closer, reaching Bull just as Adaar did.

“There’s a camp ahead,” Adaar said, voice low. “They’ve had enough time here to build into a ruin. There’s a gate with a Blind Men flag on it.”

Slavers. _Of course_ they were slavers.

Bull doubted that was the rumored prize they sought in the ruins. There were far easier places to sweep a few elves or humans out of sight with no one the wiser, and in better numbers. Surprising a few careless treasure hunters in the desert hardly called for a sizable Venatori force, but _having_ one would certainly make it an easy side trip. Bull scowled, reaching to pull his axe free. He motioned with his chin for Adaar to lead on.

“Cole,” said Adaar, unsheathing his daggers, and Cole repeated the motion before the two of them ran ahead, disappearing into the shadows with only a small cloud of smoke that evaporated instantly. Bull and Dorian followed quickly behind them, storming through the gate ahead. The Inquisitor was right, the Venatori had been there long enough to set up a few small pavilions and tents and to receive stacks of supplies.

Bull roared, lifting the greataxe high as he charged past the supply crates and grabbing the attention of every enemy in earshot. He barreled straight into the shield of the first Red Templar he saw, throwing every muscle behind the blow and knocking the man backward. Bull slammed his axe down over the top of the shield, denting the templar’s helmet and sending a river of blood down his breast plate. The shield fell from his hand.

Bull felt something cold breeze past his shoulder, and a sheet of ice shot up from the templar’s feet to the top of his helmet, freezing him solid. Bull smiled and crashed the axe down again, splintering the ice, and the man inside it, to pieces at his feet. Bull glanced back to find Dorian smirking at him, and something in Bull’s chest warmed again at the sight of it.

To the left Bull heard a sound like glass shattering, then again to his right. Adaar and Cole slid out of the shadows in unison, each with his daggers sunk deep between the scarlet crystals spiking out from the backs of two more templars. Bull lifted his axe and began to spin, sawing through the both of them in a few clean swipes. The templars collapsed, and then burst into flames.

“Bull, on your left!” Dorian called.

Bull whirled back just in time for a bolt of flame to fly past him, and he growled. A Venatori mage crouched behind a few crates, his low incantations finally reaching Bull’s ears when Dorian’s flames fizzled out. Bull rushed forward and kicked the crates down. The mage slipped away before they fell, scrambling backward, straight underneath the daggers that materialized above him as Cole phased out of the darkness. The mage dropped in a heap, blood spilling over the sand.

Bull heard shouting behind them. More of the Venatori were racing up an old stone staircase with heavy stone pillars at each corner that led below the sand. Adaar was trying to head them off, clashing against one while he kicked another across the sand. Bull charged in after him, slicing through two templar rogues on the stairs and leaving them for Cole to finish. Another templar was pushing through the narrow doorway at the end of the stairs, the moonlight glinting harshly off the front of his shield. Bull swung for his side, taking advantage of the shift in balance he had to make to fit through the door, but the templar was quick, catching the blow on the shield even as he twisted awkwardly to move it. Bull reared back and swung again, overhead this time, but the templar regained his foot and met the blow again, shoving Bull backward.

The shouting grew louder above them, and the sounds of steel crashing against steel rang into the night. Bull let his blood run high, falling into the rhythm of the reaver, every blow only sending a rush through his muscles. He focused on trying to knock the templar off balance, keeping him out of range of the others, when he heard a loud thud.

“Talan!” Dorian cried, then far louder, “ _Bull_!”

Bull caught the movement above him in time to look up and see one of the pillars wavering on its foundation, then tip toward him. Then something crashed into him, _hard_ , knocking him partway through the door. His horns knocked against the doorway and he winced as he hit the ground. The heavy stone of the pillar landed on the stairs right where he’d been standing, the force of it shaking the ground. Dorian was half on top of him, hands still braced against Bull’s side. He groaned, lifting his head a little. Movement caught Bull’s eye. He saw another of the pillars begin to waver. Grabbing Dorian’s shoulders, he scrambled backward, dragging them both the rest of the way through the door. Bull heard the Red Templar he’d been fighting groan and then cry out. The stone crashed down, one heavy block after another, barring the door completely with stone. Everything went silent, save for Bull and Dorian panting against each other.

Dorian rolled off of Bull with a groan, and Bull sat up immediately, eye darting around the room. It was another antechamber, larger than the last, but with the same carvings and veilfire torches on the walls. He saw no other Venatori or Red Templars in the room, but the door to the next room was open. He looked along the floor. Dorian’s staff was nowhere in sight, and he realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that his axe must have fallen from his hands on the stairs. Defenseless. His neck tightened, his heart still thudding in his ears from the rush of the reaver skills, and he pushed to his feet, growling under his breath. He could easily handle three or four with just his fists, depending on how fast they barrelled at him and what weapons they carried, but trying to keep them off of Dorian at the same time would complicate things. And they _would_ keep off of Dorian. Just stay steady, look at the surroundings, watch the shadows...

“ _Crap_ ,” Bull muttered.

Dorian sat up next to him, groaning again. Bull’s gaze snapped back to him. He looked disoriented, his hair mussed, and he winced as he tried to stretch his arms.

“Are you all right?” Bull asked urgently, crouching.

“You really are every bit as heavy as you look, you know that?” Dorian groused, looking up at Bull, but the frown was thin as Dorian’s eyes darted quickly over Bull’s body, looking for injury.

“Come on,” Bull said, holding his hand. “Quickly, if there are others we’ve gotta get the jump, we don’t have any weapons.”

“I’m--” Dorian started as Bull pulled him to his feet, but Bull cut him off.

“There weren’t any traps in the last one, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t in this one. Stay behind me, let me test the floor before we--”

“ _Bull_ ,” Dorian said, grabbing his arm. He lifted a hand, and Bull watched it light up, wreathed in flame. “I’m never without a weapon.”

Bull looked at him a moment, then turned away. “Fair enough, but that’s not going to stop them if they have another shield fighter or three, we’ve got to--”

“Bull, there’s no one else here,” Dorian said, nodding to the door. “They’d have come when they heard the crash.”

Bull followed his gaze to the door, then motioned for Dorian to stay put while he marched toward it. Dorian crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes again.

He was right. There was another pillar chamber, like the last, but it was empty, the door beyond sealed shut. Bull willed his heart to calm. But they were still trapped, and Cole and Adaar were left above to deal with the rest of the Venatori, and then find a way to move the stone, and spiders or lurkers might still creep in from a sizable enough crack in the wall if they missed it, and--

Bull gritted his teeth and growled, slamming his fist into the wall.

Dorian was at his side instantly, his hand covering Bull’s fist and tugging it away from the stone.

“Yes, that’s a marvelous solution,” he snapped, tugging until Bull faced him and he could glare up at him properly. “Break what little support the place has so the whole thing comes down on top of us. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Bull tensed, looking sharply at the wall again, and Dorian sighed.

“It’s not going to come down, I shouldn’t have… Bull, what is _wrong_?” Dorian said. “This isn’t like you. None of this is like you, all day you’ve been--”

He fluttered a hand in the air, trailing off. Bull cocked his head. “Been what?”

“Oh, stop it,” Dorian frowned. “I may not have the gift of the all-seeing Ben-Hassrath eye but you think in all these months I haven’t learned a thing or two about reading you?”

In all honesty, Bull absolutely thought that. Few could, really, and that was the point, not to be readable. Even sex wouldn’t complicate that, or what was the point of the training? But then again… he looked at Dorian now, took in that determined set of his jaw, the softened edges of his eyes. This stopped being about sex a long time ago, hadn’t it?

“Why do you think I’ve started rambling on about whatever nonsense I can think of every time your shoulders start rising?” Dorian said, softer now.

Bull swallowed, reaching up with the hand Dorian wasn’t gripping to skate the back of his finger along that sharp jaw. “That’s not exactly a new thing for you to do, Dorian.”

Dorian scoffed. “Please. My normal rambling is far from nonsense.”

Bull grinned at him, though it felt tight against his lips. He reached up to brush some sand out of Dorian’s hair.

“This place… reminds me of Seheron. Since… everything happened with Gatt, it’s harder not to think of it. It brings up bad memories, like Cole said. And then getting trapped down here…” Bull sighed, looking away for a moment to try and grasp his thoughts together.

“Ah,” Dorian said, letting go of Bull’s wrist so he could smooth his hands around Bull’s waist. “I think I understand.”

Bull looked back at Dorian, but Dorian was staring at where his thumbs lightly stroked along Bull’s sides. He seemed lost in thought a moment. Then quietly, so quietly Bull had lean forward a little to hear him, Dorian said, “Cole said I… made it easier. Was that… true?”

Bull felt that knot snag in his throat again. “...Yeah.”

It surprised Bull exactly how true it was. Sometimes just the sound of Dorian’s voice, of his laughter, was enough to make Bull feel calm. Sometimes looking over to see Dorian at his side was enough to make him feel centered. Yet he never dared to lean on the feeling, or on the man behind it, more than the solace of a good night in bed allowed. It seemed to heavy a weight to ask Dorian to shoulder on top of his own worries. Bull would find some way to deal with things, even if losing the Qun left him completely at a loss for what that might be. Besides, the point was to have fun, to blow off steam, to live out a few fantasies before the world broke in half around them. Bull was good for that. He refused to tie Dorian down with more than rope, not when he talked of such grand dreams for turning Tevinter on its head. No, Bull let Dorian’s touch soothe him when he gave it and asked no more.

But then Cole started in on Dorian’s thoughts, and that was… well. That was nothing Bull expected. Sure, he knew Dorian had a gentle side he never admitted to; he’d hardly keep trying to distract Bull if he didn’t like him. But there was something more to Cole’s words than friends who fucked, something more than good sex. Some part of Bull itched to ask for himself what “ _amatus_ ” meant. Did it mean anything as big and terrifying and wonderful as the feeling swelling in Bull’s chest, swallowing up all the rest of his anxious thoughts until he forgot everything else?

Dorian turned, looking over his shoulder at the barred door, then back at Bull. A small smile spread over his lips, and he said, “Well… it doesn’t look like we’ll be going anywhere for awhile. How about I… help clear your head?”

Dorian’s hands dropped to the buckle of Bull’s belt. He looked up at Bull through his lashes, his smile turning playful. Bull felt his pulse quicken.

“But the boss… and Cole… we don’t even know if they…”

“There isn’t a man on Thedas with a better chance of surviving a few bastards with swords than Talan Adaar,” Dorian said. He had a point. “He hit that column hard, but I saw him getting up again when I went for you. There was only three or four of them left. I promise you, he and Cole are fine. I’m sure they’re far more worried about us.”

Dorian quirked his lips. “Besides, if we truly are stuck down here, then I’m going out doing something I--”

Dorian’s smile faltered slightly, and Bull felt something tighten along his shoulders for a whole new reason. Dorian swallowed, then he managed, “--something I enjoy.”

“Dorian, you don’t have to--”

Dorian tugged Bull closer by the belt, rising on his toes to silence the rest in a very insistent kiss. The touch of Dorian’s lips flooded Bull with warmth and he sank forward into it, letting Dorian drop back onto his heels. Bull’s hand strayed to the back of Dorian’s head, teasing into his hair. Dorian hummed his approval, nibbling lightly at Bull’s lip before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Let me. Please.”

He lingered close enough as he said it that Bull felt Dorian’s breath hot on his lips. He blinked his eye open, and the electric look on Dorian’s face sent heat straight to Bull’s groin. He felt adrift all over again, but this time with Dorian’s hands to ground him.

So he nodded, slowly. “All right. Watchword?”

Dorian smiled, breathing “ _katoh_ ” before crushing his lips to Bull’s again, hungrier now, and Bull let him drive the kiss. He heard the blink of metal, felt his belt loosen and fall, and then Dorian’s fingers slid along the waist of Bull’s trousers. Bull gasped in a breath. Dorian deepened the kiss, pushing at Bull’s sides until his back hit the stone wall. Bull’s hand tightened in Dorian’s hair. Dorian ran his fingers slowly along Bull’s skin.

“Tease,” Bull grumbled when he managed to pull away from the kiss long enough to breathe.

Dorian chuckled, his fingers retreating back the way they came, letting the trousers sink a little lower on Bull’s hips as they went.

“It’s only fair,” Dorian said, “You’ve been teasing me all day.”

“Have I?” Bull said, moving his hands to rest along Dorian’s waist.

“Despite your very best efforts,” said Dorian, raising an eyebrow, “this… _tent_ you insist on wearing as clothing does nothing to hide that arse of yours.”

“Who said I was hiding it?” Bull’s grin widened.

“Like I said. Teasing,” Dorian finally slid the offending garment, along with the smallclothes beneath, down Bull’s hips and let them catch at his knees. Bull was already half hard, and Dorian’s eyes went dark with lust.

“Maybe it’s less a tease and more a promise, ever think of that?” Bull said, letting the rumble back into his voice.

Dorian looked back up at him, his gaze heated. “Then I expect you to keep that promise.”

He wrapped his hand around Bull’s erection. One slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip made Bull inhale sharply, and Dorian grinned, triumphant.

“There was also that talk of dwarven architecture,” he said, stroking lazily.

Bull huffed out a breathless laugh. “Really? That-- _ahh, yeah_ \--that shit gets you hot?”

“What can I say?” Dorian let his fingers tease over the head of Bull’s cock, then he slowly stroked down again, earning another groan. “I like a man of… intelligence.”

Bull smirked. “Thought I was just-- _ohh_ \--a thick-headed barbarian.”

“I thought you’d enjoy knowing you’d proven me wrong,” Dorian said. He gave a particularly wicked flick of his wrist, and Bull moaned loudly, throwing his head back. He nearly cracked his horns on the wall, his hips bucking up a little, fingers digging into the leather of Dorian’s armor. He felt Dorian’s hand tighten in response, stroking a little faster.

“Look at me,” Dorian said suddenly, quiet but demanding. Something hot and intense rushed from Bull’s chest to his cock, and he opened his eye. Dorian’s gaze was as heated as his words, and he was biting his lip as Bull leaned his head down.

“Fuck,” Bull growled. “ _Fuck_ , you’re so gorgeous.”

“Bull,” Dorian whispered. His free hand came to rest on Bull’s shoulder, sliding up along his neck, then curling around the back of Bull’s head, urging him close enough that their foreheads touched. He picked up the pace, and Bull began jerking his hips up to meet every stroke.

“That’s it, come on,” Dorian murmured, keeping their eyes locked. He stroked steadily, and Bull panted against him, hips snapping helplessly. It felt so damn _good_. Dorian was rubbing his thumb along the base of Bull’s skull in time with Bull’s thrusting, and the counterpoint of how unbelievably soothing that was with the heat of his fingers against Bull’s cock was rapidly undoing him, if all the desire in Dorian’s eyes didn’t do it first.

“Shit, Dorian,” Bull said, trying to keep his eye open against the onslaught of sensation. Dorian flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, and the sight made Bull groan. “Harder.”

Dorian stopped holding back. The pressure built, and Bull snapped his hips erratically a few more times before he came with a yell, spilling over Dorian’s hand and his own stomach. Dorian stroked him through it, still rubbing his neck. As his heart calmed, Bull slowly loosened his fingers from Dorian’s armor. He kept his eye on Dorian all the while, watching the way Dorian’s eyes grew hungry and bright as Bull came, then softened slowly, looking so fond as he waited for Bull to steady himself. Finally, he let go of Bull’s cock to rest his hand on Bull’s stomach, letting his other hand stray to Bull’s cheek as he smiled up at him. Bull’s chest ached at the sight. He leaned down, kissing that smile gently, lazily, more the slow slide of lips than anything else.

“You are… so fucking hot,” Bull breathed when they finally parted. Dorian smirked, his thumb tracing a scar along Bull’s cheek.

Bull moved his hands along Dorian’s hips, traveling toward his obvious erection, but Dorian stopped him with a hand on Bull’s wrist. When Bull furrowed his eyebrows, Dorian leaned up to kiss him again.

“Later,” he said. “Just...just relax.”

He stepped back and plucked Bull’s belt from the ground, opening a pouch along the side. He pulled the polishing rag tucked in there free and wiped his hand on it, then wiped it along Bull’s stomach.

“I realize,” he said as he worked, “that I am inviting a multitude of pole polishing jokes by using this thing.”

Bull grinned at him as Dorian flicked his gaze up, then lowered his eyes again. He continued, “I promise I will make it worth your while if you somehow manage to refrain.”

Bull laughed. It felt so good to laugh. Even Dorian couldn’t fight off his smile for long. He tossed the rag aside, helping Bull tug his pants back up before running his hands up Bull’s chest. Bull wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist again. Despite being trapped in this crumbling old tomb, Bull felt lighter than he had in days when Dorian looked up at him like that.

_Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against._

Bull exhaled slowly, the words hurting just a little less as they ran through his mind. He breathed in the scent of Dorian’s hair, dulled a little by travel, and thought of the way it always lingered on his sheets. He thought of Dorian’s skin in the light from the hearth when he lay curled over Bull’s chest, resting his chin on his arms as he talked about something he’d been reading. He thought of the way Dorian flushed when Bull reached across the table in the tavern to wipe a bit of ale foam from his mustache. Something in Bull did unwind when Dorian was near, and maybe it wasn’t so terrible to hold on to that, for now. Especially if he did the same for Dorian, if that was true. And it usually was with Cole.

“Better now?” Dorian asked suddenly, voice gentle.

Bull smiled. He kissed Dorian’s forehead. “Yes. Thank you.”

Ah, Bull would never tire of watching Dorian’s cheeks redden. Dorian hid his face against Bull’s chest as he said, “Well, good.”

“Gonna let me pay you back now?” Bull asked, his fingers drifting a little lower.

“I said later,” Dorian huffed, but he made no move to stop Bull’s hands this time as they began toying with one of the buckles on his armor.

“It’s later,” Bull smirked. “Come on, I haven’t thanked you for saving my life yet.”

“Adaar is going to swoop in here at any moment with a daring rescue planned, you know,” Dorian said as Bull leaned down to nip at his earlobe. “Mmm… _ahem_. He’ll probably expect us to have figured out that dwarven puzzle room already.”

“I’m much more interested in _this_ puzzle,” Bull said, looking at Dorian pointedly as he popped one of Dorian’s buckles open.

“Insatiable,” Dorian muttered, but he was struggling not to smile.

Bull pulled his hands away. “Well, if that’s how you feel, maybe we ought to--”

“Don’t you dare,” Dorian said, grabbing Bull’s hands again. Bull laughed.

Hours later, when Adaar managed to find enough help to break through the rocks, and Dorian's hair was (mostly) smoothed back in place, and Bull had been promised a new polishing rag, Bull found himself thinking maybe the Hissing Wastes weren’t so bad after all.


End file.
